


Keyed up

by Em_Jaye



Series: The Long Way Around [7]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Key Party, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: Woody Allen once said, 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." With that in mind, Darcy had to wonder if there was anyone who could make God laugh quite like Steve Rogers.September 1971: Party





	Keyed up

**Author's Note:**

> The intention here was to cheer us all up from the last fic. I'm hoping that happens at least a little bit? 
> 
> I...honestly don't even know.
> 
> *covers face*

“Please?”

“No thanks.”

“Pretty please?”

“Still no.”

“Pretty please with cheese on top and the option to barter for something you want?”

The newspaper behind which Steve had been hiding, dutifully pretending to ignore her pleading, folded forward. Her roommate offered her his least impressed look. “You don’t have anything that I want.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes. “First of all,” she said, “I don’t believe that. Everyone wants something.”

Steve lifted his eyebrows. “And second of all?”

“Second of all,” she clasped her hands again. “Pretty fucking please? I desperately need you to come with me.”

“You absolutely do not.”

“But it could be fun!”

“For who?”

“For us!” she exclaimed. “For the two biggest bags of sad in Oakland! Steve, seriously,” she dropped her hands and snatched his newspaper away before he could return to reading it. “All we do is work and research and I’m going to die if I don’t do something fun.”

“So go,” he shrugged. “I’m not stopping you.”

Darcy sighed and dropped down on the couch next to him. “Okay, technically, yes, you’re right. You’re not.” She tucked her leg beneath her and turned to face him. “But I haven’t told you why I want to go—and why you’re going to want to go.”

Steve looked at her, expectantly. “Because we’re bags of sad?”

“We are,” she assured him. “But also, because I think Janet Van Dyne might be at this party.”

The line she’d become so familiar with appeared between his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

“Tina—the one who invited us—”

“Invited you,” Steve corrected.

“Is dating a guy who goes to Berkeley. He’s studying to be an engineer.”

“Okay…”

“And I guess they go to these parties at this house all the time? The boyfriend knows a bunch of rich people? I don't know. Anyway, Tina told me about a super smart woman who’s been hanging out in their same little group the last few times they’ve gone. A super smart woman who goes to Berkeley with Tina’s boyfriend.”

“A super smart woman named Janet Van Dyne?”

“A super smart woman named _Jan_ ,” Darcy said, refusing to have her enthusiasm deterred. “Which is obviously short for Janet.”

“Or Janice. Or Jana. Or it could be just Jan,” Steve argued lightly, looking like he was about to reach for his newspaper from her hand.

She held it out of his reach. “Okay, but it could be Janet. And she could be our Janet. And she could be planning on going to this yuppy-puppy rich-people-party tomorrow night and if we don’t go, we could miss her.”

Steve twisted his lips in consideration and Darcy felt herself inching closer to a victory. “You really don’t need me to be there—”

“Yes,” she insisted. “I do. Please? I don’t want to go by myself. Tina promised it’ll be fun and low-key. We can have low-key fun for one night." 

He groaned and swiped a hand over his face. “I’m not good at parties,” he whined.

“What are you talking about?” she cried. “I’m sure you’re great at parties! People love you!”

He gave her a second look, this one even less impressed than the first. “You’re saying that based on what evidence?”

Darcy bit her lip and paused. “Okay, you’ve forced my hand,” she announced. “If you come with me tomorrow, I’ll bake you cookies on Saturday.”

She watched him try to fight the way the corner of his mouth twitched. He squared his jaw tighter and sat up straighter. “What kind of cookies?”

***

It was a weird party. A weird, rich-people party held in a sprawling art-deco mansion in San Francisco full of people she didn’t know and music she wasn’t crazy about. If it hadn’t taken them over an hour to get there, Darcy would have scrapped the idea as the first twist of social anxiety gripped her stomach. But she shoved it away as the climbed the steps to the front door—reminding herself that they’d come on a mission and making a note to be extra nice to Steve for the next few days.

She was pulled away from him immediately by a drunk, giddy Tina who seized her hand and dragged her straight through the bottom floor of this massive mansion to the full-service bar set up in the kitchen.

Tina had squealed about a whole bunch of things while they waited for a glass of champagne and a shot of bourbon for Steve. Darcy was having trouble focusing on what exactly she was saying—she was trying to figure out what Tina was doing with her keys. She’d swiped them from her hand as soon as they’d reached the bar and tied a white tag to the keyring before she held them up with a bright smile. “I’m going to go get you a number,” she said, raising her voice over the din of the music from the next room. “Any preference?”

Darcy frowned and felt her head tip to the side. “Preference for what?”

Tina nodded. “Got it,” she said, and Darcy watched her cross to the opposite corner of the kitchen where she spoke to a man with a thin mustache and heavy sideburns. He handed Tina a key from a small box to his right—also with a white tag—and a pen. She bent over the counter and then, to Darcy’s surprise, dropped the set of car keys in a large fishbowl with a dozen others—each with a similar white tag.

She returned as Darcy was being handed her flute and tumbler. “What’s this?” Darcy asked when Tina tucked the key into the front pocket of her corduroy skirt.

“Your number,” Tina said, like it was obvious before she reached behind her to take another flute of champagne offered by the bartender.

“For…the valet?” she guessed.

Tina laughed and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You’re so funny,” she said fondly before she brightened with another idea. “Do you wanna do some coke?”

Darcy blinked. “Uh…sure?” she shrugged and held up the short tumbler of amber liquid and perfectly round ice cubes. “Let me drop this off—I told Steve I wouldn’t leave him on his own for too long.”

Tina laughed again. “Well you’ll have to split up eventually,” she said with a wide smile. “That’s kind of the point.”

Before she could ask what that meant, Tina had wandered off, distracted by the sight of her boyfriend—the Berkeley grad student that had invited them here in the first place—prompting Darcy to remember that she’d dragged Steve across the bay for a reason.

“Meet any brilliant physicists with stellar bone structure yet?” she asked by way of greeting when she sidled up to him back in the front room and handed him his drink.

“No,” he shook his head. “And I don’t really know what she looks like, so I’m not going to be much help.”

“I know,” she assured him. “You’re just here to give her the big-blue-eyed hard sell about helping us once we find her.” Her eyes drifted over the crowd—around twenty people of varying age and race. Dancing, drinking, one couple heavily making out on a very expensive-looking chair. She frowned. “I don’t see her…but I’m going to mingle and,” she paused. “I might end up doing some cocaine with Tina.”

Steve shrugged. “When in Rome, I guess.”

Darcy brightened and gave him a light punch on the arm. “That’s the spirit!” She motioned back to the room. “Do some recon and meet me over by the bar in like, an hour? Forty-five minutes?” He nodded and left her to wander back toward the kitchen, where she’d last seen the only other person she knew.

She didn’t end up doing cocaine with Tina. She spent the next half hour casually asking Tina’s weird, ultra-rich boyfriend about his friends from school. Who was here? Who wasn’t? Who’s this Jan girl Tina keeps talking about? Did she happen to be quantum physicist on the verge of changing the world?

Casual small talk.

But Jan wasn’t short for Janet. It was short for Janice. Janice, who had arrived at the party halfway through Darcy’s interrogation. Janice, who was indeed super smart and a student at Berkeley as advertised—but her genius was moving her swiftly through a law degree. Not anywhere near the physics department.

“What kind of party did you bring me to?” Steve asked irritably when they found each other later.

“Right?” she asked feeling a touch of relief that it wasn’t just her. “People are acting kind of weird, aren’t they?”

Steve frowned and swapped his empty drink for a fresh one. “No, I mean,” he glanced around. “Well, yeah, they are. But are you sure there isn’t some kind of…theme that we’re missing?”

She felt her nose wrinkle. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Did they give you a key too?”

He looked down at her, confused. “A key?” he repeated. “No, I didn’t get a key. What are you talking about?”

She dug into her pocket and removed the item in question. “Tina gave me this,” she held it up. The number 8 had been scrawled on the little tag. “I don’t know why.”

Steve looked more concerned. “You need to start asking better questions,” he reminded her. “Or…any questions.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she waved his words away. “I mean, worse case scenario it’s like some kind of speed dating thing.”

A flash of panic sparked in his eyes. “Darcy, I swear to God, if this turns into a speed dating thing, no amount of cookies will make me trust you again.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m right there with you, drama queen,” she assured him. “Anyway, Janet isn’t here,” she said and quickly relayed the rest of her disappointing findings of the last hour. “We don’t have to stick around if you don’t want.”

“I don’t want,” he affirmed.

“Yeah,” she glanced around again with a frown. “Same. I’m glad we got to see how the other half lives, but rich people in any decade make me kind of queasy. Also,” she added, setting her empty champagne flute on the bar. “You’re being eyed up by about a half a dozen women right now. Are you aware?”

“Painfully.”

She brightened. “We could stay,” she said quickly. “I could be your wing-chick if you wanted to—”

“Nope,” Steve cut her off tightly. “Can you just give me the keys? I’ll go get the car while you say your goodbyes.”

“Uh, yeah,” she craned her neck to try to see into the little corner where Tina had deposited her keys earlier. “Hang on—I just have to figure out where she put them.” The corner was empty. No more man. No more box of keys and numbers. No more fishbowl.

“Where who put them?”

“Tina.”

“Why did Tina have your keys?”

“She took them and put them in the fishbowl,” she said distractedly, rising up on her toes trying to find her the noticeable sideburns from earlier.

Steve grabbed her arm, forcing her attention back on him. “Did you just say fishbowl?”

“Yeah,” she looked up at him and stopped for a second, noticing his intense concern as the realization of what he was asking dawned upon her slowly. “Oh, c'mon, don't be silly."

Steve looked murderous." Darcy...”

“There’s no way that’s what this is,” she insisted. “Tina would have said something.”

“Are you sure she didn’t?” he asked. “Are you sure you maybe didn’t mishear her when she said it was going to be low-key?”

She shook her head. “Steve, please” she warned him. “Key parties are a myth,” she said seriously. “They’re a plot device on _That 70’s Show_. No one actually did—” she cut herself off. “This is stupid,” she asserted. “I’ll just go ask her where they are, and we can go.” Before Steve could say anything else, she took off in the direction of the living room, where she’d caught a glimpse of Tina’s sleek black ponytail swinging as she danced a few minutes prior.

But Tina was no longer in the living room. Neither was Janice or some of the other women she’d been talking with earlier. She breezed past the enormous fireplace and headed for the staircase outfitted with a golden railing and deep, burgundy carpeting. A woman with a sheet of shimmering blonde hair was balanced on the edge of the banister, swinging her bare feet back and forth. She gave Darcy a quick once over. “Got your key, baby?”

“Uh, yeah,” Darcy held it up again.

The blonde squinted at it and nodded. “Third on the left,” she said, pointing up the stairs.

“Oh,” she frowned. “I was actually looking for my friend, Tina. She’s about my height. Really pretty? Long black hair? Maybe a little tipsy?” she added, trying to remember how much Tina’d had to drink.

“She’s probably already upstairs,” the blonde shrugged. “You better get a wiggle on,” she shooed Darcy past. “Fun’s about to start.”

She wasn’t sure why she let herself be herded up the stairs. Why she continued down the dimly lit hallway, whispering for Tina at every door to no avail. Why, when confronted by the mounting evidence of the possibility that Steve might be right, she forged ahead in fierce denial until she’d unlocked the door to Room 8—marked by a small, embroidered red and gold pillow hanging from the doorknob. She got as far as letting the door close behind her before she leaned against it and dropped her head.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Because of course Room 8 was a bedroom. A ridiculous bedroom with a circular bed, made with slippery satin sheets and fluffy, furry pillows, a bedside table beset with bottles of oils and lotions and an honest-to-God mirror hanging from the ceiling.

“This can’t actually be happening,” she told herself out loud, daring to take a few steps into the room. But it was. She had found herself at an actual-facts key party. Had willingly and stupidly surrendered her keys to the game and was now…

Darcy stopped and stared at herself in the mirror above the dresser. Now she was what? Going to have to wait to see what poor bastard wandered through the door, holding her keys, expecting to get laid? How long would that take? She bit her lip. What if he didn’t believe her that she didn’t actually mean to come to a swingers’ party?

She frowned at her reflection. Would anyone— _anywhere_ —believe that?

“Okay,” she said, speaking to herself out loud. “I need my keys,” she stated firmly, nodding at her reflection. “I need my Steve,” she counted on her fingers, “and I need to get out of here.”

She turned away from the mirror just as there came a knock on the door. Her heart rocketed to the floor in the few seconds between the initial knock and the squeal of the doorknob turning.

Steve slipped into the room like he was being followed and Darcy almost fell over with relief. “Oh Jesus Christ, it’s you,” she breathed, a hand pressed to her chest.

He looked like he maybe wanted to roll his eyes but was fighting the urge. “Were you hoping for someone else?”

Her relief faded and she returned his question with a glare. “Someone from the crustache brigade downstairs?” she asked, jerking her thumb toward the hallway. “No, thank you. You’ll do.”

“Such a sweet talker,” he said flatly.

“Did you pull my keys?”

He held them up. “Obviously,” he said before he frowned. “What…exactly were you planning to do if I _hadn’t_ picked them from the bowl?”

Darcy shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Say I had a yeast infection and hope for the best?”

Steve blinked. “Kind of an overshare.”

“I don’t _actually_ have a yeast infection,” she groused.

“I’m happy for you,” Steve said and looked at the door. “Can we go?”

“Gladly.”

He held the car keys high over her head when she reached for them. “I’ll drive.”

“Why?” she griped. “Worried I’ll wrangle us into another double-blind sex party between here and home?”

“Among other things,” he muttered and held the door open for her.

They paused in the hall, momentarily paralyzed by the sounds of foreplay from the surrounding rooms. Darcy’s nose wrinkled. “Everyone’s so loud,” she said before she could stop herself.

Steve didn’t fight his rolling eyes this time. “I’m sure no one’s thinking about the acoustics,” he said as they headed toward the stairs.

“So, all the women went upstairs to their assigned rooms and you guys were just supposed to go fuck whoever’s room number and keys you picked?” she asked, dropping her voice to an unnecessary whisper. “No questions asked?”

“Yeah.” Ahead of her, Steve shrugged. “That was the idea.”

Her frown deepened. “I cannot believe this is actually a thing.”

“Come to this party with me,” he said under his breath. “It’ll be fun and low-key.”

“Clearly I misunderstood her,” Darcy argued indignantly. The bottom floor was deserted, and they were able to slip out of the house undetected. “And it’s not like she broadcasts that she’s into this stuff,” she added. “I had no way of knowing she and her boyfriend were so kinky.”

“You could have listened to _me_ when I broadcast to you that I didn’t want to come.”

“Yes, I could have,” she agreed testily. “But you don’t have to be a dick about it. I said I was sorry.”

Steve stopped on the stairs down to the street and turned around. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, obviously, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, shuffling past him to keep moving toward the car. “I wouldn’t have done this to you on purpose.”

“Just remember what I said about asking better questions,” he reminded, tiredly. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled as he unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for her. “Memo to me: get a full itinerary next time Tina invites me anywhere.”

She leaned over and unlocked his door before he reached it. “That’s all I ask,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

The lights of the city flew past them as Steve navigated the uncomfortably quiet Buick through San Francisco’s narrow streets. To Darcy’s surprise, he slowed to a stop two turns before the bridge and pulled to the side of the road. She turned from where she’d been staring out the window, alarmed to find that he’d draped both arms over the steering wheel and had dropped his forehead against them.

She couldn’t see his face.

Darcy bit her lip, confused and concerned. “Steve? Are you—” She noticed his shoulders shaking a second before she realized what she was seeing. “Are you…laughing right now?” she asked in disbelief.

The question broke whatever restraint he’d been trying to maintain, and he sat up, covering his mouth to muffle his uncontrollable laughter. “I’m sorry,” he choked after a moment of Darcy’s stunned silence. “I’m sorry. It’s not—” His face betrayed his attempt to be serious again and he shook his head. “But Jesus Christ, Darcy—your face when I opened that door—”

“What?” she asked, faintly, as the corners of her lips lifted without her permission.

“You looked like you were about to be executed,” he declared before his head fell back, and a loud bark of a laugh fell from his mouth.

Darcy shook her head, trying to smother a smile between her lips. “That’s funny to you?”

“No,” he said and snorted again. “The whole thing is funny to me,” he choked out and dissolved into another round of honest-to-god giggles.

Darcy couldn’t help it—she laughed too. She’d never seen Steve laugh like this and suddenly that felt like a tragedy. He had a great laugh—loud and silly and infectious—and as they sat there until their eyes watered and their sides hurt, Darcy realized she wanted to hear a lot more of it.

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:   
> 1) I know usually key parties (if they exist, jury is still out on this one) don't involve an exchange of keys like what happened here and usually don't stay in one house. But it needed to work for the image in my head that made me write this in the first place. So... 
> 
> 2) Okay, so you know when you're in a situation where you're totally screwed? And you keep inventing less and less likely scenarios that will allow you to cling to the hope that you're not as screwed as you really are?
> 
> That's kind of what Darcy was doing all night. We all know she's not that clueless, right? She was just leaning really, really hard into that denial, hoping for the best. 
> 
> 3) I have no problem with a little recreational cocaine usage every once in a while and I definitely don't have any problem with swinger/key parties if that's what you're into and everything is safe and consensual.
> 
> Cool? Cool. 
> 
> \----
> 
> I'd love to know what you think of this silliness. I love you, you wacky batch of kittens.


End file.
